Running she leaves a trail of blood, looking back she screams.
by cheyeanne miller
thinkining clearly now she sees the cuts and bruises.
She falls to the ground and remembers the kneedle.
Drifting off into the silence of colors.
It lasts forever: heroin, extacy, and acid they all take their turn.
now shes dead on a never ending trip.
Seeing the colors,
hearing the screams,
but just laying silent,
dead as the *sno covered mirror